


Girl Crush

by JocelynTorrent



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Unrequited Love, some more angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 19:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3459482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JocelynTorrent/pseuds/JocelynTorrent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is everything Regina wanted to be. A good person with a troubled past who somehow comes out unscathed and finds her happiness. But there can’t be two of those in one town. No, there are victors and there are losers. Victors sit over there, smiling and laughing and moving on. Losers sit on a torn vinyl bar stool and try to drink the memories away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Girl Crush

**Author's Note:**

> This is an extremely angsty, sad fic about Regina and her love for Emma which is unrequited. Also this Elsa is based entirely off of the movie, not the show, if there's any difference. Based off of the song Girl Crush by Little Big Town.

The ice in her drink has long since melted. She picks it up and swirls it, watching the diluted amber liquid churn in the shadowed room. This place smells of drudgery. Smells like the woods, gasoline, metal…manual labor jobs. She recognizes no one in this place. Why would she? They were probably peasants before, people should would never have even noticed. They had noticed her when she entered, the flimsy door slamming behind her. She must have looked out of place, pea coat and scarf and cocktail dress. But no one dared say anything as she weaved through occupied tables and side stepped between the dart boards and pool table, making her way to the bar.

She orders a drink and nurses it until the idle chatter returns. Slowly, the bar returns to normal. She picks up conversations here and there about people’s work or their love life and tries to get lost in it. Tries to focus on anything but the thoughts in her own head and the drink in her hand. Maybe on her third or fourth drink the music starts. She hadn’t noticed the little stage in the corner of the bar. But now there is a lone microphone and some speakers, blue light filtering lazily from the ceiling to highlight the singer. Someone she didn’t recognize, of course, and someone without a particularly splendid voice. But it helps cloud her thoughts. She orders another drink.

The door has been slamming all night as people enter and leave, uncaring about the deafening, hollow slap it makes every time. Regina used to look up every time she heard it, but has since stopped. No one she knows would find her here. The people she knows like to go to Granny’s to get their kicks, or the restaurant behind city hall that thought itself upscale. Not here. Not in this shack in the woods where people go to hide and brood and dilute their emotions with cheap liquor. What would her associates have to drown out, anyway? Stupid, hopeful little morons who are so content to live in their own world where the glass is always half full, no matter how much she tried to knock it over.

Her fingers tighten around the glass, eyes shutting as she wills her malicious thoughts away. That isn’t her anymore. It can’t be her anymore. But they linger anyway, pawing at the back of her mind, easing up her throat to rest on her tongue, waiting like a snake to strike. It had been such a noble thought before, hopeful almost, to believe that she could change, that she could actually achieve her own happiness. There is no hope of that now, and she lacks the courage to bring back the hatred, the evil queen. It isn’t worth it anyway. She is too exhausted to make good on any threats, too hopeless to take joy in any of it.

 She sighs and signals for another drink. The bartender hesitates just a moment too long, perhaps debating on whether or not to cut her off. She straightens instantly, shooting him a look that would have meant execution back in the forest. He seems to understand, shoulders falling in apathy as he sets the entire bottle in front of her before tending to other customers. The door slams again. She doesn’t know why she looks, but her head lifts lazily, eyes taking a few moments to adjust to the motion.

Regina’s heart catches in her throat, then plummets to her stomach.

She turns her head back to her drink, letting her dark hair fall around her face, concealing her from the new patrons. The liquor is making her head swim with ridiculous ideas and she shakes her head at each and every one of them, willing herself to sober up, reminding herself that she still has control. When she’s calmed herself down enough, she lifts her head and looks around the room, searching.

She finds them quickly enough, sitting at a table near the microphone. The singer has changed. Regina didn’t even notice. They’re in front of her, and to the far right. Unless they really made an effort, they weren’t likely to see her, and Regina breaths a sigh of relief. Then a cruel smile graces her lips.

Of course they would come here. The only other outcasts in the entire city, the only other people to need to escape. The only other people she was trying so desperately to drown out of her mind. Regina pours herself another drink. The bottle is becoming light in her hand, and she sets it down with a bit too much force, still watching them, watching _her_.

She’s taken to the style of this new world well. Regina can see the jeans are tight against her thighs, dark blue and winding down those long legs where they flare out slightly to allow for the black heeled boots. The heel isn’t too tall or thin, just enough to be fashionable without being over the top. Regina’s boots were taller and thinner, but then again she wouldn’t be caught dead in those jeans. She couldn’t pull them off like that. She couldn’t make them hug her curves in the right way, looking tight but comfortable.  She didn’t have the hips for low rise. She’d never allow herself to be caught dead in a pair of denims that had manufactured holes, hinting at the prize of soft, pale thighs underneath.

Regina places a hand on her own thigh, finger slightly caressing her skin. She’s darker, and tans better than the other woman ever could. But that doesn’t matter. Her skin is soft to the touch, warm from all of the other bodies in this room. She rakes her nails along her thigh before lifting her hand, reveling in the pain that lingers, that marks her skin in a way no one else wants to, and keeps staring.

The boot in question lifts slightly from where its crossed over the jeans, gently touching the thigh of her partner, then sliding down slowly when she gets their attention. She smiles, and her teeth are perfect, enhanced in the shadowed lights and neon signs of the bar. Her smile is beautiful, rounded out by the red lipstick that Regina cannot wear. She doesn’t have the right skin tone for that shade. She wants the right skin tone for that shade. She wants to wear that red lipstick. A brief thought flashes through her mind. Kissing her, stealing that lipstick for her own, marring that beautiful smile and leaving it breathless and powerless and _wanting_.

Regina licks her own lips, the waxy taste from her own lipstick entering her mouth. It doesn’t taste bad, but hers probably tastes so much better. She wants to taste it, wants to lick it clean and see if liquor makes that tongue better or worse against her own.

Because Regina’s watching, she can hear it when the woman laughs. It’s hushed, shy, mouth pursing as she tries to contain herself. When she can’t a sculpted hand covers those red lips, denying Regina the sight. The queen finishes her drink, upset that she can’t see, that she can’t have. And that’s what’s so alluring about her. So shy, restrained, allowing only bits and pieces of herself to come through at a time. Regina wants it all, and she wants it all right now. She wants to take it by force, make it all come spilling out at once. But that’s not something that’s offered, and it’s something that she can never, ever have. And that makes her want it even more. She settles for pouring another drink.

The bartender, feeling courageous, sets a glass of water next to her. Regina has half a mind to throw it at his head, but she can’t cause a scene, can’t bring attention to herself, lest _they_ see. So instead she stares at the ice in the glass. Beautiful, sculpted ice that tinkles so sweetly when jarred. She picks up the glass and takes a drink, allowing a cube into her mouth. She swirls it with her tongue, feeling the chill against her tongue, the burn at the roof of her mouth. She smoothes out the edges of the cube, allowing the water to trickle dangerously down her throat without swallowing. It’s fresh and refreshing and wonderful and she closes her eyes as she cracks into the ice with her teeth, swallowing it quickly to feel the rush as it travels down her esophagus, cold until it hits her chest, where the feeling disappears.

Too quickly for her tastes. Liquor runs hotter, burns longer. She prefers it, and she hates herself for that, but drinks again anyway. It seethes down her throat, burning and itching making her wince with the sharp suddenness of it, the bitter tang on the back of her tongue. A rush hits her head and she smiles, lolling her head in a circle as the liquor lingers, comforts and burns like the other woman never can, never wants to.

Regina opens her eyes slowly. The neon signs are fuzzy, never clearing, but she doesn’t care about those. Her eyes have lifted from the jeans. And are now onto the torso. Another thing she would never be caught dead in: a tank top. It’s a nice tank top, loose, flowing at the bottom and a bit more girlish than what Regina’s used to seeing. The top hangs low, cleavage visible even from Regina’s drunken seat on the other side of the bar. Another thing Regina doesn’t have, and she sighs, bringing her chest out as she inhales. She can’t even achieve cleavage, her chest is too broad. Let alone let it billow out all over her chest and still somehow look modest.

The tank top flares out over her breasts, then somehow clings back to that taut torso before flowing out. Maybe it’s tighter than Regina thinks but it doesn’t matter. It works, and that’s damnably all that matters. It’s a lovely shade of blue, too. Pale and kind and easy on Regina’s tired eyes. She lingers on the snowy cleavage, with the pale blue surrounding it, and tells herself she’s resting her eyes, that she’s in a daze, that she’s drunk. It doesn’t matter, because no one is noticing her. No one that matters anyway.

The loose cardigan finishes it off. Regina smiles lazily at the long cuffs that reach past the end of the woman’s knuckles. Another way of closing herself off, another piece to be peeled back and explored. Another piece Regina just wants to rip off with her teeth and dive into.

She’s speaking to her partner now, and Regina lets the memory of her voice enter into her mind. It’s restrained too. So goddamn quiet and slightly raspy with the effort of holding back. Regina wonders what that voice would sound like in bed. Would she be able to make her moan and groan and say her name, or would there still be that missing piece that no amount of physical exploration could find? What would it sound like to have that voice whisper in her ear all the things she wants done to her. Regina shivers at the thought and clears her throat. Her own voice is raspy, but from years of screaming her rage, not fear of use. Hers is strong and commanding, daunting in its unwavering tone. She can make it weak, yes, she can make it crack and indeed it does when she feels like her world is crumbling. But it’s not _her_ voice. It’s not a voice that beckons someone to bed with just a shy whimper, not a voice that teases and plays and maybe grows with effort. It’s not a voice that leaves people wanting more. It’s a voice that ends all discussion.

Blonde hair trickles down in front of the woman’s face, and she pushes it back easily. Her hair is in a loose braid, draped elegantly over her shoulder.  It’s not even tied, Regina notices. It just obeys, sitting on her shoulder for display. So that all the world can see what beauty in its purest form looks like. The loose strands on the top of her head fall easily around her face, framing it. The others, for the most part, stay where they’re supposed to.

Regina’s own hair is lovely. She knows this. But it’s also dark. And short. And can’t hold a braid, not that she’d ever want one. But she wished she did. Taking another drink, Regina really wished she did.

From where she’s sitting, on this barstool with holes in the vinyl, there is absolutely nothing wrong with the woman in front of her. She is perfect. So stunningly perfect that Regina becomes acutely aware of the burning hole the alcohol has created in her empty stomach. She wants her. She wants it so badly that she has to grab the bar to keep from leaping off the stool and taking it.

And she _hates_ it. She hates it so much. A choked sob escapes Regina’s mouth, but it’s lost in the din of the bar, the song of another new singer. Karaoke maybe. It doesn’t matter. Regina forgoes the glass and takes a swig of the bottle, and hates herself even more when she feels the bartender’s eyes upon her. A flash of her eyes turns him away, but it doesn’t ease her pain. Someone else’s pain doesn’t comfort her like it used to, or like she thought it used to. And she hates that, too. She hates that for all of this self-loathing, all of this torture, this alcohol, this assassination of herself and what she stands for, Regina cannot bring herself to hate Elsa.

And she _hates_ it.

She and Elsa are more alike than Regina would dare admit out loud. She can’t blame her for being so demurely coquettish, even though she hates that Elsa can be both at the same time. A walking contradiction that Regina never would have thought attractive if she didn’t see it herself. She can’t blame her for being restrained. And certainly, absolutely, she can’t blame her for enjoying her own happy ending.

Regina takes her tongue between her teeth and bites hard. She doesn’t draw blood, but she enjoys the distraction, even if momentarily. Elsa is everything Regina wanted to be. A good person with a troubled past who somehow comes out unscathed and finds her happiness. But there can’t be two of those in one town. No, there are victors and there are losers. Victors sit where Elsa sit, smiling and laughing and moving on. Losers sit on a torn vinyl barstool and try to drink the memories away.

And what hurts the worst, what hurts the absolute worst, is the kindness. Regina is the first to admit that she’s hard to warm up to. It takes effort like it does with Elsa, but a different kind of effort. A pushing, pulling, fighting, biting kind of effort is what it takes for Regina to open up. With Elsa it’s a loving, comforting, safe kind of effort. A safer and kinder path, with a much bigger reward.

Regina knew nothing of this snow queen when she first blew into town. They were from different lands with different stories and no real connections to each other. But that didn’t stop Elsa from smiling at her, for trying to include her, to just…allow Regina to be however Regina was. After learning from her past, Regina supposed it made sense that someone like Elsa wouldn’t dare try to change someone. But it didn’t make it any easier to endure.

Regina could handle fighting and biting remarks. She couldn’t handle shy smiles and faint, comforting touches. But neither could she blame Elsa for giving them, for somehow knowing exactly what Regina needed and giving it to her selflessly, expecting nothing in return. Regina didn’t like that. She liked the fight. She liked to know it was worth it. She would go down fighting, and she hated that about herself, among many things. There were a lot of people that deserved Regina’s ire, but Elsa was not one of them. Regina wished it wasn’t that way, wished that she could hate her just as easily as everyone hates her, but she can’t.

Elsa’s partner leans closer to her, nearly obstructing her from Regina, and Regina leans a bit in her chair. Elsa lowers her head for a moment, and another quiet laugh escapes before she leans in and accepts the kiss. And in that moment there’s a fire that Regina had never seen before. It’s in the way she allows her kiss to be slightly sloppy, slightly off center. It’s in the way she grabs her partner’s jacket and pulls her closer for just a moment before pulling away, running those pristine teeth over that full bottom lip. Just enough, just a taste, always wanting more and having more. Regina would give her more, give her everything. Regina would take it all, and that’s why it’s all wrong.

Crystal blue eyes find hers, and Regina knows she’s been caught. Elsa’s brow furrows for a moment, squinting across the dark room. Then those red lips part and she smiles and it’s so genuine and kind that Regina was certain she would fall to her knees if she was standing. Elsa raises a hand, waving a hello before tapping her partner’s arm. Another blonde head turns around. Her hair isn’t as lovely as Elsa’s. It’s dirty blonde and straight and needs a brush. The second pair of eyes are a deep forest green. Regina knows this even though she can’t possibly see that far away. But she knows those eyes all too well. And she can’t look at them. She can’t.

But neither can she be here any longer, on this torn vinyl seat, drunk and alone and so pathetic. Maybe a part of it is the alcohol, but suddenly Regina doesn’t care anymore. She’s tired of caring. It doesn’t matter which way she cares or what she cares about, it’s always wrong and it’s always painful and now, it’s not even worth it. So she stands, a bit wobbly at first in her heels, and makes her way to the microphone. If someone was there before they’re gone when she reaches it. There’s a karaoke screen in front of her but she pays it no mind. She’ll sing it a cappella. She’s done caring. She just wants the pain to go away.

She focuses on Elsa. She’s got a big, supportive smile on her face, one that Regina doesn’t deserve. She’s so blissfully unaware that Regina almost thinks it’s too cruel to continue. But she must. She must. So she opens her mouth, allowing her drunken eyes to clear out the entire room except for Elsa, who’s giving her her full attention. The room has gone silent upon seeing the queen on an entirely different throne. There’s a hum of awkwardness, and the weight of tension, but she’s already up here.

Her timing is off, and her singing isn’t that great, slurred a bit from the liquor, but she doesn’t plan on stopping.

_“I’ve got a girl crush, hate to admit it but_

_I’ve got a heart rush, ain’t slowing down_

_I got it real bad, want everything she has,_

_That smile and that midnight laugh she’s giving you now.”_

It’s cruelly coincidental, but Elsa had been caught in a laugh when she sang that line. Something her partner had whispered into her ear. Neither the laugh nor the comment was directed at Regina. Somehow she knew this, but she couldn’t bring herself to see the slight red blush that graced Elsa’s cheek when she heard the line. So she shuts her eyes and keeps singing, forcing the words out of her mouth, knuckles white on the microphone.

_“I want to taste her lips, yeah, ‘cause they taste like you_

_I want to drown myself in a bottle of her perfume_

_I want her long blonde hair, I want her magic touch_

_Yeah, ‘cause maybe then, you’d want me just as much_

_I’ve got a girl crush, I’ve got a girl crush”_

 

She opens her eyes. Elsa’s smile has faded, and still she is not looking unkindly at her. Rather, her eyes seem to hold empathy, encouraging her to keep going, silently telling Regina that she can take it. Regina wishes that Elsa would glare or stop her or even get up and leave. Get up and do something other than sit there and allow her to sing these horrible things that she doesn’t deserve. Regina wants something to hate her for, and Elsa doesn’t give it. Her next lines are horrible, surely unintelligible, because she’s begun to cry against her best efforts.

_“I don’t get no sleep, I don’t get no peace_

_Thinking about her under your bed sheets_

_The way that she’s whispering, the way that she’s pulling you in_

_Lord knows I’ve tried, I can’t get her off my mind”_

Elsa’s cheeks flush again, surely thinking of herself in the song. She has to, because Regina’s eyes have not once left hers. So shy and unassuming in her beauty, in her power over others. Unaware of the way she makes people weak at the knees and in the heart. Regina wants to be disgusted by it, but she just keeps singing, repeating the lines once more before she lets her voice drift off to end the song.

There’s no sound when she’s finished. As far as Regina is concerned, there’s no one else in the room except her, Elsa, and Emma. For the first time this night, Regina allows herself to look over at Emma, allows herself to willingly walk down this path of no return and get the real, visceral reaction from the one she can never have. Emma’s eyes are wide in disbelief. She’s clutching tightly to Elsa’s hand, the other on the edge of the table, as if it’s keeping her in place. What does she need to be held in place for, Regina wonders? Is the hand to stop her from running out the door, or running up to her and ripping the mic from her hand? The stupid, drunk part of her wonders if it’s to stop herself from running up and taking what Regina is so ready to give, but then she finds Emma’s mouth.

Emma’s lips have just the slightest tint of red to them. Elsa’s red. Regina swallows hard, remembering the kiss. The sloppy, fiery kiss that Regina could never replicate, because she knows that when it comes to Emma, she has no control. She would give and give and give to whatever Emma desired without a second thought, even if it killed her. She couldn’t leave Emma wanting more, because she would give her the world in an instant. And that’s not what Emma wants, not what she needs. What she needs lies in those crystal blue eyes that still, _still_ don’t hate her.

Elsa’s eyes leave Regina’s and turn to Emma, where she leans in to whisper in her ear. Whatever she says, Emma doesn’t seem to like the idea. Regina can tell by the way her grip on Elsa’s hand tightens, the way her body goes rigid as if she’s been attacked. It’s too much. The room comes into focus as Regina tears her eyes away from the two. And she sees these peasants, these people, judging her. Piteous looks are everywhere. The bartender shakes his head, and she can’t be in there anymore. She stumbles off the stage, shaking off a few people who try to help her, and barely manages to remember her purse before she pushes out the door, jumping when it slams behind her.

She doesn’t get farther than the curb, where she misses the step entirely and falls to her knees. Regina hisses as her knees scratch along the gravel and leans back to sit on her butt, bringing her knees to her chest. They’re scraped and bleeding, marred. No longer the perfect, smooth skin that she had so recently caressed. She begins to cry again, this time loudly, uncaring if anyone sees or hears her. The sight of the former evil queen crying drunk on the ground with scraped knees is one not to be missed, she thinks, but no one follows her out. No one seems to care that much, and she hates herself for being surprised.

Regina’s not sure how much time has passed. The blood on her knees has dried, but her tears haven’t. She’s idly picking the debris out of her skin when she hears the door slam behind her. She doesn’t turn, doesn’t even shut her eyes to try and drown out the shame. She meant what she said to herself in the bar. She’s done caring. Let them see. Let them pity. The queen has fallen.

She hears a sigh from behind her, and her knees instinctively draw closer to her chest. There’s the sound of a quiet discussion, and then boots on the gravel, coming closer. Regina feels certain that she’s going to vomit. With all of the liquor she had tonight, she’s surprised she hasn’t yet. Her head is spinning, but her eyes focus as Emma crouches in front of her. She looks down at Regina’s knees and runs a pink tongue over her bottom lip. Regina can smell alcohol on Emma’s breath, much more mild than her own, she’s sure. Maybe vodka cranberry. Did Emma drink such things? The red tint is still on her lips. A few inches closer and she could clean it off, but her hands stay wrapped around her legs.

Emma reaches out slowly, placing her hand on the side of Regina’s knee, where the skin is still soft and smooth and perfect. She meets Emma’s eyes and swallows the sickness that’s building in her throat. Emma exhales slowly through her nose and tries to smile, but drops it. In the end, she just shakes her head a few times and stands.

“Let us take you home, Regina.”

Regina turns her head to the side and vomits, both her hands catching her and holding her up as she empties her stomach. The liquor burns just as badly on the way up and she’s so thankful for it, choosing to focus on the pain rather than Emma’s hands in her hair, holding it out of her face. Her short, black hair. If she’d had it braided, Emma wouldn’t have had to touch her at all. And maybe it would have been better that way.   

When she finishes, Elsa crouches in front of her. Unlike Emma, she’s able to smile kindly at her, and gently dabs at her lips with a tissue. Regina allows it, doesn’t even feel embarrassed by it. She’s empty now, she thinks. Truly empty.

Together, they help Regina stand. Then Elsa gently picks up Regina’s purse and finds her keys. Once they’re in her hand, Emma deposits Regina over to her and heads to the parking lot without so much as a goodbye. Regina hears the grinding roar of the yellow bug come to life, the dull headlights big and blurry and catching rainbows in her eyes. Elsa’s hand snakes around her waist, helping her to walk to the car. Regina lets her head loll into Elsa’s shoulder and feels Elsa jump as she inhales deeply, smelling the braid and feeling its softness against her cheek.

Surprisingly, Elsa doesn’t really smell like anything. Her skin is cool to the touch, and feels good on Regina’s cheek. But as for scent, Regina can only pick up the faintest smell of soap that’s almost overpowered by the lingering smell of the bar. She should have known that Elsa didn’t need perfume to be alluring. She didn’t need to be anything other than herself. Regina wonders if her own perfume is bothering Elsa, if she thinks it’s too much or too strong. She wants to ask her, but they’re nearing her car now and she doesn’t want to vomit in that.

Elsa is extremely delicate in her handling of Regina. Everything is gentle and slow and makes Regina’s skin tingle for want of more. Regina has half a mind to make herself dead weight just so she can pretend that Elsa dropped her on purpose, but even in this state she knew she wouldn’t believe it. So she just allows Elsa to help her into the passenger seat of the car, watching lazily as Elsa rounds the car and hops into the driver’s seat.

Regina watches as Emma pulls out in front of them, leading Elsa down the wooded road and back into town. The drive is silent, Regina’s mind slipping in and out of consciousness as she watches the blurry streetlights overhead. The drive seems to take only moments but when she feels the car come to a stop and sees the familiar white door of her garage, she lifts her head from the window. Elsa gets out quickly and Regina watches in the rearview as she walks down the driveway, heading to the yellow bug that’s parked in front of her house. Emma gets out and she and Elsa have a quick conversation. It doesn’t look particularly heated from Regina’s perspective, but apparently Elsa loses because Emma shakes her head drops her hand in a gesture of finality before heading back to her bug.

Elsa’s shoulders fall slightly, and she shakes her head before heading over to Regina’s side of the car. She opens it slowly, giving Regina time to lift herself up from where she’d been lounging against it, and offers a hand to help her step out of the car. When Regina stands, her head begins to swim. She feels herself teetering for a moment before Elsa finds her waist again, steadying her. Regina scoffs aloud. Elsa truly is perfect. If she were in Elsa’s position…. Regina lets the thought die, focusing instead on walking up to her front door.

Elsa unlocks the door for her and helps her inside. Just as Regina wonders how long Elsa’s kindness will last, she feels the hand leave her waist, leaving her cold. She turns slowly and tries to focus on Elsa, studying the crease in her brow and the lip that’s snagged in those teeth.

“Can you make it from here, Regina?” she asks quietly, eyes lifting to survey the vaulted ceilings of the entryway.

Regina is about to respond when she hears the honk of the bug outside, making the both of them jump. And then, she’s angry. She’s angry at Emma, and that stupid car, and the way that she held her hair and the way that she didn’t say goodbye. So she stumbles past Emma and glares out the front door at the bug before closing it. Let Emma come to the door if she’s in such a rush.

Elsa’s eyes have widened slightly when she turns around, and Regina feels guilty for scaring her. For she’s certain she’s scaring her. That’s what the queen does, after all. Scares people into submission and makes them hate her. And she needs Elsa to hate her. Elsa needs to hate her, not Emma. Dear God, please, not Emma.

“Did you like my song?” Regina slurs, swallowing the knot at the back of her throat. She walks towards Elsa—stumbles, more accurately. Elsa stands tall, even holds her hands out for Regina to latch onto for support.

“We should get you to bed, Regina,” Elsa coos softly, trying to lead Regina towards the stairs.

Petulantly, Regina rips her hands from Elsa’s and takes a few steps back. “No, I’m not going anywhere until you tell me how I smell.”

Elsa blinks a few times, her head tilting at the sudden change in conversation. Regina crosses her arms and tries to put on her best glare even though the room has started to spin. Elsa licks her lips once, then closes the distance between them. Tentatively, she reaches out and places her hands on the sides of Regina’s arms. Then she leans in to Regina’s neck. Regina can’t hear an intake of breath, and doesn’t jump as Elsa did. Then Elsa slowly moves away, and Regina is impressed to see that her face is stoic.

“You smell nice. Like apples.”

“You smell like nothing.”

“Okay.”

It’s not patronizing. It’s not because she’s drunk. Elsa simply accepts it. Accepts everything about Regina even though she should be hating her, should be ensuring that she never gets within a mile of Emma, should be asserting her monogamous claim over Emma. But instead Elsa just gives a single nod, and accepts. And Regina can’t take it anymore.

“What were you two arguing about out there?” Regina asks, flinging her arm back towards the door. Her hand smacks against the wood and stings, but she pays no mind. “What were you saying about me? Was it that you didn’t want to help me? You just wanted to get me this far and drop me on the doorstep? Were you yelling at Emma for me wanting her?”

Elsa’s cheeks flush again at Regina’s brazenness, and she shakes her head. “I thought Emma should talk to you.”

Regina laughs coldly. “Are you stupid? Why would you want that? Do you want Emma to cheat on you? Or are you trying to make me the bad guy?”

Elsa opens her mouth to respond, those beautiful lips curling into a perfect “O” shape, and Regina decides that she must beat her to the punch.

“Because I already know I’m the bad guy! I know that I’m the one who embarrassed you and Emma in front of all those peasants, the one who admitted my love for everyone to judge you for, the one who couldn’t fucking keep it to myself anymore.”

Regina’s knees give and she drops to the floor, hissing again as her raw knees press against the hardwood. Elsa is on her in an instant, arms wrapping around her and holding her tightly, comforting her as fresh tears fall from her eyes. Regina wants to fight, wants to push Elsa away, or maybe punch her, but it’s been so long since someone held her like this, since someone comforted the queen without expecting something in return.

She could see why Emma wanted Elsa. Both Regina and Emma had so many walls, there needed to be someone who wasn’t there just to constantly force them down, but to knock on the door and wait patiently until let inside. That’s why she and Emma could never work. They were too similar, needing too many things that the other couldn’t give. That was why she wished she could be Elsa.

Elsa shushed her softly, hand rubbing up and down her back, and Regina smelled the alcohol on her breath, too. It smelled the same as Emma’s, maybe vodka cranberry. Regina raised her head and looked up into Elsa’s eyes. Elsa smiled softly down at her and Regina saw the slight smudge in her lipstick, caused by Emma’s kiss. Emma lingered in that smudge, lingered on those lips. And Regina wanted them.

She raised up quickly and found Elsa’s lips, putting a hand on the back of Elsa’s head to keep her in place. Elsa’s mouth parted in surprise and Regina wasted no time in slipping her tongue inside. She tasted the liquor, smelled the cranberry, and marveled at how cold Elsa’s mouth was. Elsa’s mouth. It was Elsa’s mouth, and she couldn’t taste Emma on them. She didn’t even know what Emma tasted like.

Hands were on her shoulders then, pushing Regina off forcefully as Elsa scrambled back and away from her. Her lipstick was all over her mouth now, shining in the light of the house from Regina’s sloppiness. Elsa wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, taking most of the lipstick with it. Then Regina saw it.

Pity. Elsa was pitying her. And Regina _hated_ pity.

It flamed up instantly in her stomach, the hatred for Elsa. Regina smiled at the familiar feeling, a weight lifting off of her shoulders as she settled into the role easily. Hating was so much easier. She was used to hating. And now Elsa wasn’t this strange blip in between love and hate. She was back in familiar territory, something Regina could handle.

Elsa sighed and rose to her feet, not bothering to help Regina up as she looked in the mirror hanging on the wall and wiped off the rest of Regina’s mess. When she finished, Elsa looked down again at Regina. But before Regina could make a scathing response to those eyes, Elsa spoke.

“Goodnight, Regina. Sleep well. I’ll see what I can do about Emma.”

The pity was gone from her eyes. Back was the respect, the respect that the drunken queen surely didn’t deserve as she sat with bloodied knees on the floor of her home. And she was still offering to talk with Emma? Regina felt bile collecting in the back of her throat. She wanted to vomit again. Her eyes burned from all the tears, and her head was beginning to throb. Elsa didn’t wait for a reply, dropping Regina’s keys on the table by the door before stepping out and closing it behind her.

Alone again, Regina turned behind her to look at the closed door. Elsa would make her way down the sidewalk and climb into Emma’s car. She wouldn’t tell Emma about the kiss, there was no point. But maybe Emma would kiss her. And in that moment she would taste Regina, the fire of Regina’s liquor making her tongue tingle and maybe making her want more. And maybe tonight, Elsa would give it to her.

The thought didn’t make her feel nearly as good as she thought it would.

 

 


End file.
